


Connor: Become Human

by YassHomo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Chaptered, Chaptered by Emotions, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Knows Full Well What He's Doing, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, I mean its more angsty than i think it is, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Pining, Post Revolution, Protective Hank Anderson, Very Very Light Angst, i think, sorry - Freeform, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 12:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17939324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YassHomo/pseuds/YassHomo
Summary: In which Connor learns to navigate human life.





	Connor: Become Human

**Author's Note:**

> Gavin Reed is not a nice person.

Despite being a month into deviancy, Connor was still unsure how to describe or reason with emotion. For one, he had never expected to have emotions run so brightly and unorganized. It was disquieting, to say the least; Connor had heard of them, and was almost always able to correctly identify what he felt, but experiencing them was a completely different matter.

For one, Connor noted that he couldn't switch them on and off. When he reported his findings to Hank, he was given a rather strange expression - one that Connor was able to break down as exasperation, amusement and a barely concealed fondness so soft that Connor wanted to wrap himself in the emotion and stay there.

Another thing was that emotions were messy and undisciplined. He wasn't able to feel one thing at a given time - this meant that it took far longer to decipher them. They were inefficient, to say the least.

At this reveal, Hank had merely rolled his eyes, as though Connor was stating something particularly obvious. Though, the exasperation that Hank had worn was softened greatly by his slight smile, one that Connor had quickly warmed to and offered his own.

Regardless of the alarmingly complex and capricious nature of emotions, Connor would have to navigate his way through them. He considered it to be a private pet project, one that he had set himself and would have to complete.

Ordering the disorganization of deviancy would be interesting, to say the least.

 

 

 

**¤~¤~¤~¤ Anger ¤~¤~¤~¤**

 

 

 

Theoretically, Connor had known about anger. He would be able to identify it through Hank's preference towards profanities and holding grudges against the toaster that no longer worked without burning bread into indistinguishable charcoal.

He had never truly felt it until now.

He made the mistake of leaving to retrieve some files despite the fact that he had them downloaded and didn't physically need to see them. A factor of deviancy was unusual likes and Connor enjoyed the image of ink against paper.

As soon as Connor returned, he paused before walking forward and continuing to his desk. Dt. Gavin Reed, born in early October, aged thirty-six, was presently slouched against Connor's desk.

For some reason, Connor felt as though this did not bode well. When Hank saw him approach, he didn't offer a smile as he usually would which only served to justify Connor's intuition.

"And there's your wife, perfectly on time." Dt. Reed sneered, eyes narrowing when he finally noticed Connor. Hank's lips thinned, shoulders squaring at Connor's introduction into the conversation. "Imagine this - plastic fucks turned against us for _freedom_ , yet Connor enjoys being someone's subservient little bitch."

Connor flinched, which logically made no sense because Dt. Reed hadn't physically attacked him. His distraction lead him to taking his attention away from Hank and promptly he missed the exact moment when his resolve snapped. In fiercely quick movements, Hank had gotten to his feet, grabbed Dt. Reed by the collar and held him still. Dt. Reed grimaced, hand flying to where his stomach was pressed against the sharp side of Connor's desk. Hank didn't release his grip. "Say that again, Reed, I fuckin' dare you."

"What're you going to do, huh?" Dt. Reed hissed, trying wrench himself away from Hank to little success. Hank, however, briefly tightened his grip before letting Dt. Reed go. Instead of backing away, Dt. Reed continued.  "Fowler can't protect you forever, and by now your disciplinary file is turning into a pathetic novel."

For some reason, the comment directed at Hank caused Connor to freeze for a second, his thirium feeling warmer than usual and his expression changed without him intending to. When he spoke, his voice was lower, matching the tone to when he was interrogating suspects. "My file is completely clear. I don't plan on changing this, but if I see it necessary, I will."

Dt. Reed turned to face Connor, lips forming a thin, white line. "Was that a threat?"

"Under this context and your tone of voice, a threat implies that I won't follow through." Connor replied, sounding far more levelled and even than he actually felt. He felt his hand flex involuntarily into a fist before he caught what he was doing and eased. "I assure you, this is not the case."

Dt. Reed looked hesitant for a second before his lips pulled back into a wordless snarl. He glanced back at Hank, almost as though he was looking for an ally, but found none. It was clear Connor had bruised his ego, and he stalked away, shooting venomous looks behind him.

Hank watched him leave carefully, and as soon as he was at a perceived safe distance from them, he frowned. "Connor, I can defend myself. I don't need you getting into trouble 'cause of me."

"Lieutenant, I believe I just experienced anger." Connor said slowly. He glanced down at his hands, surprised to see that they were tensed into fists again before he forcefully relaxed them.

"No shit." Hank muttered. "I'd be pissed too if I had to deal with him."

"You did." Connor pointed out. Hank scoffed, giving a small flick of his hand as though he could dismiss Connor's concern. It was evident that Hank had grown used to shrugging off insults as though he was immune and it didn't matter. This caused a small twist in his chest. Brows furrowing, he put his hand over where his thirium pump would be.

"You okay?" Hank asked, watching his movements cautiously.

"I have experienced more emotions." Connor informed him, keeping his hand over his pump and trying to identify it. The anger had ebbed away into something smaller and lighter - frustration, maybe exasperation? The type of anger that was smaller, like when Hank would catch Connor trying to test evidence.

Regardless, he filed the interaction between him, Hank, and Dt. Reed under _'to be later investigated_ ' before turning his attention back to the file in front of him.

 

 

 

**¤~¤~¤~¤ Curiosity and Embarrassment ¤~¤~¤~¤**

 

 

 

Curiosity was something that was far more commonly experienced. 

After 'The Incident' where Connor had felt an emotion previously only aware of, not experienced, he began to wonder what other human experiences he was missing out on. Anger certainly wasn't pleasant, but it made Connor feel more normal.

Though, this curiosity was different. Instead of immediately hurling questions at Hank as he often did, he paused. His interest was mixed with something else akin to embarrassment and Connor was _not_ used to that.

He couldn't quite place it.

Regardless, he researched as much on the emotion in question - love - before trying to place an anecdote to it. Familial love - Hank with Sumo, only acting mildly disgruntled at the heavy weight. The love of memories and things, or storge - the picture of Cole that had recently migrated onto Hank's bedside table. 

Agape, or unconditional love - from his patience and kindness and accepting Connor, helping him navigate life when he had no idea what was going on. Forgiveness when Connor messed up (often, in the beginning of his deviency, when everything was unwelcoming and cold).

There was one type that he couldn't quite place. After thinking through what was the best approach and deciding it was to be abrupt and direct. Moments like these left Connor thankful that he was able to follow Hank home and ask questions without dealing with prying eyes. He cleared his throat, and Hank's eyes almost immediately snapped to meet his.

"What is love?"

Hank didn't hesitate. "Baby, don't hurt me."

Connor frowned. "Lieutenant."

"You asked." Hank replied, shrugging. He didn't look particularly awkward - not yet, at least - so Connor assumed that his assessment was correct and direct was easiest. Hank paused. "What type?"

Connor paused. "Romantic."

Hank's expression changed so fast it would have been almost imperceptible. A quick flash of something before it was soon controlled. Almost immediately after, a notification propped up, one that indicated a physical change.

**[Heart Rate: 85 bpm]**

Connor was thankful he had put monitors on Hank's wellbeing to notify him when something happened. When a human's pulse increased it indicated adrenaline borne from many different emotions. The closest emotion Connor could assign to Hank was nervousness. Judging by the tightened grip on his coffee mug, it was a correct assessment.

Slowly, Hank asked, "You can...?"

He trailed off, glancing away from Connor and at a corner in the living room. Connor frowned, tilting his head slightly. "Of course."

**[Heart Rate: 96 bpm]**

"Can't you look it up or something?" Hank asked, now looking very uncomfortable. Connor grimaced, ducking his head slightly. Embarrassment, then, and a softer version of guilt for making Hank feel awkward. Hank sighed. "Hey, don't look at me like a fuckin' kicked puppy. Jesus, I haven't been on a date in seventeen years."

Something in Connor's expression must have changed without his awareness, as Hank huffed, throwing his hands up. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

Connor immediately perked up.

 

 

 

**¤~¤~¤~¤ Jealousy ¤~¤~¤~¤**

 

 

It happend often around the precinct; a case would be closed, a victim or the relatives of victims would be so grateful they would bring in gifts or cards, and the officers would be formal but thankful.

It just so happened that the sister of an adopted android child decided that the gift should be herself. At first, Connor couldn't place the feeling in his chest - as though his torso was being squeezed with a rope.

The blonde woman leaned over Hank's desk, hip dramatically swayed to one side and head tilted so that her hair partially obscured her face. Connor imagined cutting her hair off before internally recoiling. A moment of guilt flared up so strong Connor felt dizzy, and it was completely illogical.

Then, the woman leant forward, positioning herself to display more of her chest and suddenly Connor decided that throwing her out of a window would be quicker than showing her the door. She giggled lightly at something that Hank had said - Connor had missed it, he had missed someone  _saying_  something - and Hank didn't look uninterested. He looked - vaguely confused, alarmed, rather cautious, but not  _uninterested_.

Connor winced when he noticed the pencil in his hands snap.

It would be something that Hank would reply with " _Oh, shit._ "

The woman startled, evidently forgetting that Connor was ever there. She blushed, the red blotchily staining her cheeks. Hank glanced at him, raising an expctant eyebrow at Connor, glancing between his face, his LED, and the splintered pencil. "What's up?"

Connor didn't look at the woman. "She is interested in a sexual relationship with you, Lieutenant."

He wasn't aware that he was looking for a reaction until it was given to him. The woman spluttered, mouth falling open into a soundless 'o'. Hank blinked, eyes flicking across his face, searching for a response. Connor tried to keep his expression neutral.

The satisfaction at having the woman look deeply uncomfortable and Hank's attention completely on him instead of loud, giggly blondes with priors for shop lifting almost caused him to smile.

"I'll leave my phone number here." The blonde eventually said, glancing between them. Then, her embarrassed demeanour dropped and she bit her lip, fluttering her eyelashes at Hank. "Call me."

As soon as she was a far enough distance, Hank turned to him. "Connor, what the fuck?"

"I'm sorry, lieutenant." He said, even though he wasn't. "I assumed she wasn't making her intentions clear enough as you neither rejected or encouraged her advancements."

"What do you think I was trying to do?" Hank asked, leaning back on his chair and fixing Connor with a blank look. "Would you rather me say, ' _sorry, I'm not interested, I'm busy playing house with my partner despite the fact he has his own place'_."

A rejection with the addition of Connor being the reason why was exactly what Connor would have liked. It was obviously not the answer Hank would accept, and Connor would prefer to avoid lying, so he changed the subject. "Would you rather me move into my apartment?"

"Hell no." Hank said quickly, sitting straighter. "You know that, right? I mean, if you left now - I would - um, Sumo would miss you."

Connor beamed. He would have to be a peculiar brand of oblivious to miss the slight slip, and something caused him to feel  _brighter_ at the fact that Hank would miss him. Even if he was aware of this truth, having it (almost) said outloud was something else. "I would miss Sumo, too."

Hank seemed placated that his attempts of reassuring Connor were successful. He leant back again, content, dropping both the subject of Connor's diversion and the harsh response Connor had given to the woman.

Later, when the paper with her phone number disappeared, Hank didn't mention it. Around the same time, as Connor dispassionately watched the ink bleed out into paper after being dipped in water, he realised that the emotion he had been feeling was jealousy.

 

 

 

**¤~¤~¤~¤ Hope ¤~¤~¤~¤**

 

 

"You're going to muder me." Hank said solemnly and with firm conviction. His arms were crossed close across his chest. "You're expecting me to accept my fate at the hands of a barbaric torture that should have been outlawed centuries ago."

"I can see your issue." Connor began in what Hank had officially dubbed the ' _condescending prick_ ' voice, primarily because there was a specific expression Hank would make at this. "However, salads are not barbaric torture weapons."

Hank made a sound halfway between a scoff and a sigh, throwing his hands up as though Connor were to one loudly announcing a supposed attempted homicide. They settled on a compromise - they always did - and Hank selected a meal that Connor could accept and he could order without 'having an aneurysm'.

The waitress was rather cheerful, friendly towards Hank but a quick scan over her heart rate and background history - revealling her to be the rather happy wife of Lily Dormal - Connor was rather pleased to note that she was not romantically interested in him. She glanced at his LED curiously before grinning. "What'll your boyfriend have?"

Hank froze.

**[Heart Rate: 79 bpm]**

He cleared his throat, eyes uneasily flicking between the ground and the waitress. Connor, usually, would note his discomfort and divert the attention, but he wanted to hear the answer. Hank glaced at Connor before noticing that he was being watched, and an unreadable look passed across his face. "I don't see any boyfriend."

It seemed another micro expression was shown by Connor, and the waitress hummed, sounding rather sceptical. "He's cute. Someone'll snap him up eventually."

**[Heart Rate: 92 bpm]**

"He'll have some tea." Hank replied, indicating that the matter was quite firmly dropped. Connor nodded, smiling at the choice. Even if he couldn't taste, he could identify the separate components which would keep him occupied, whilst simultaneously not causing Hank to feel like a ' _fat, selfish bastard_ '.

Connor disagreed with all of that sentence but the last time he had brought up how he saw Hank, he had been met with heavy silence.

"What qualifies as a boyfriend?" Connor asked. Hank glanced at him sharply and Connor wondered how far he was able to push before Hank called him out. "As far as I'm aware, being in a healthy romantic relationship involves a shared affection, mutual respect, and often cohabitation."

Hank seemed to have picked up on a trap. Hesitantly, "Yeah..."

"Does that make us boyfriends?" Connor didn't pause in his response, trying to make his expression as innocent as possible. There was curiosity, mixed with something sharp and fluttering.

"Jesus Christ, Connor." Hank groaned, burrying his head in his hands. To his credit, he didn't sound surprised, but his voice was strained as though he was in pain, and his pulse rate had spiked significantly. "You can't say this shit. Boyfriends - I don't know, hold hands and kiss and stuff. Fucking hell."

Connor briefly searched images for 'gay couples' and was immediately bombarded with drawings of various fictional characters engaged in activities common for couples - as Hank had said, kissing and hand holding was predominant. There were also more explicit images that Connor was sure hadn't happened in whatever media source it was sourced from.

Though, Hank didn't say he was uninterested in these activities, and, surprisingly, nor was Connor. Granted, if Hank suspected anything he would consider amiss, he would often carefully avoid the entire subject. Judging by his high count heart beats, and the dilation of pupils, this wasn't the case.

Connor grinned to himself before suddenly realising that he probably looked strange. At this, Hank's pulse rate increased slightly more, and the slight, glowing emotion he held grew stronger.

 

 

 

**¤~¤~¤~¤ Affection ¤~¤~¤~¤**

 

 

 

This emotion would almost always be present, but it was on a Saturday evening, an old movie that Hank insisted was classic droning in the background, and the calming lull of two heartbeats surrounding him.

Hank had fallen asleep, head tilted upwards, looking so relaxed that Connor promptly disregarded the entire movie in favour of watching. Sumo's head was resting on top of Hank's thigh, completely at ease, the rest of his body weighing down Connor's.

For a lack of better words, it was intimate in its domestication; the glare of a screen casting a half shadow across Hank's face, Sumo between them, and the affection that Connor was flooded with was so strong he couldn't help the sharp twisting in his chest.

It would be so easy to wriggle out from underneath Sumo, to sit on the other side of Hank and rest his head on his chest. He was already calculating the route that would cause Sumo the least amount of disturbance - but Hank hadn't stated that the physical contact was welcomed and Connor did _not_ want to make Hank uncomfortable by touching him.

So, he committed the image to memory before entering sleep mode. Even if they never officially evolved to the title of boyfriends, Connor knew that he would be content to spend the rest of his life like this.

 

 

 

**¤~¤~¤~¤ Fear ¤~¤~¤~¤**

 

 

 

Sometimes, Connor was sure he was making progress with Hank.

Sometimes, when his touch lingered perhaps too long (always accidental, since Connor still wasn't entirely sure what _flirting_ was), Hank would pause, swallow, heart rate spiking when the moment continued. He wouldn't pull away, and they'd make eye contact. The warmth in Connor's chest would grow heavily and he would feel dizzy with just how much affection he held for Hank. The contact would send sparks across his system, heating his thirium and Connor would almost always want to step closer, into Hank's personal space, and pause, just to see what his reaction was.

Most of the time, though, Hank would pull away with a rather strained expression. Connor, in return, would recoil, embarrassed at making someone he cares about feel awkward. Then, Hank would clear his throat and very unsubtly divert the attention, or Connor would announce that the ink from his pen had a pigment sourced from Spain (and Hank would pointedly not ask him how Connor found this out).

Far, far more rarely, when Hank was recently caffeinated, he would initiate the touch, whether it was a hand on his shoulder or the small of his back. Moments like these, Connor was deeply grateful of the fact that CyberLife didn't particularly want their detective model to blush. However, his breath would unnecessarily hitch, and he would still feel heat rush to his face in an attempt to start a deleted protocol.

Primarily, though, Hank would touch him in order to pull him back and stop him from any of his ' _stupid ass suicidal efforts, Connor, what in God's name were you thinking_?'

Each time Connor would feel overwhelmingly guilty, having feeling that he failed his set primary motion - _protect Hank Anderson_ \- but he would rarely regret running after suspects. If he didn't, someone else would, and that someone else was often Hank.

This time, it was, and Connor had his first taste of pure, unadulterated terror.

The suspect was known for violence, she was armed, and an Android - if anyone asides from Connor went after her, chances of remaining unscathed were slim. Hank hadn't initially attempted to follow her, but next thing he knew-

-a gun was pointed at Connor, and then suddenly Hank was shielding him and someone's gun fired-

And Connor was numbed with shock. He wasn't shot, no, but his vision was blurred with the static that was borne from panic. He tried to level his breathing - it was unnecessary to breathe, but it would cool his thirium quicker. His hands were shaking and he couldn't stop it.

"Hank!" He heard himself shout, rushing forwards. Hank looked as surprised as he felt, but nausea was still spinning his thoughts, and he immediately checked for blood, and the relief that there was none on Hank made him reel heavily.

"Connor?" Hank's voice was so concerned and Connor was struck with the thought that if everything had gone wrong, if the Android had fired, he would never hear Hank's voice again. He flinched at the thought, his thirium pump working needlessly fast. Hank's hand rested against his arm and the pressure would probably be painful to a human. "Fuck, are you hurt?"

A choked noise escaped his throat. "You could've been _killed,_ Hank!"

**[Critical Motion: Preventing Thirium Overdrive]**

**[Critical Motion: Employing Statis Mode]**

**《 <<INPUT: HALT STATIS MODE>>》**

**[Input Confirmed: Statis Mode Halted]**

The controls put in place to prevent panic were new, but Connor was not in the position to explore his discovery. He barely had time to read Hank's expression - stricken, confused, worried - before he was pressed against Hank's chest. His hands were still shaking, and he hid his face against Hank's neck. He didn't want to worry Hank further, and he was positive the expression he wore wouldn't help. It took a minute or so to calm himself down, reading Hank's heartbeat and matching it out of a desperation to know that he was still there, and his heart was still beating.

Connor's voice was hoarse and he repeated, "You could've died."

"Oh, _shit_." Hank muttered. He pulled back, trying to meet Connor's eyes and Connor just couldn't. "Connor? Hey, Connor, look at me. I knew she wasn't going to shoot. She was too scared."

Logically, Connor knew that, too. That likelyhood was under ten percent, and the other times the suspect had lashed out against authority figures was due to the assault being initiated by them. Regardless, he moved so that he was closer to Hank, breathing in the comforting scent of home, and Hank allowed him to.

 

 

 

**¤~¤~¤~¤ Nostalgia ¤~¤~¤~¤**

**  
**

**  
**

**  
**

It took Connor several weeks to calm into a more normal version of himself. Hank took this in his stride, only muttering comments about ' _fuckin' puppy eyes, god damn it_ '.

Connor liked to think himself above manipulation, but it was unfortunate that he could think of no other word for it; he had sensed his victory through 'puppy eyes' and exploited it like, as Hank cheerfully informed him, 'a fucking luck-pushing bastard'.

In his defense, walking around a park with Connor and Sumo wasn't exactly the worst form of evil Connor could have chosen. Hank would continue to grumble about it under his breath, so Connor decided that Sumo was a better conversation partner.

As soon as they passed a specific part - a bench facing a bridge - Connor sharply halted. He smiled slightly, turning to Hank, annoucing, "You pulled your gun on me here, exactly one year and four months ago."

"Yeah." Hank agreed, grimacing. "Sorry about that."

Connor hummed. "It's a good memory."

Hank turned so sharply Connor was concerned about whiplash. His eyebrows were raised, staring at Connor as though he had just announced a decision to elope with Fowler and Dt. Reed in order to form a triade. "What?"

"Almost every memory with you in it is good." Connor replied breezily.

Hank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Connor frowned, so Hank elaborated tersely, "You can't say shit like that, Connor."

"You showed that you regarded Androids as being alive." Connor continued, deciding that he shouldn't push his luck too far, aware that Hank would probably catch on or snap. "It also showed that you liked me."

"I would've shot you, you know." Hank needlessly informed him.

"I am glad you didn't." Connor shrugged. "It helped me with becoming a Deviant."

This, at least, got Hank to smile, his previous tension lighting. "Almost everything did. Back then, if you looked at a bird and said it was _aesthetically pleasing_ , you'd probably lose your shit."

Indignant, "I wouldn't."

"You would." Hank retorted, smile now breaking into a bright grin, eyes soft. Connor basked in the warmth it provided, regardless of how normal the situation was. Getting Hank to smile would always be on his 'to do' list.

They settled into a comfortable silence. Regardless of what Hank said, it would be a fond memory for him, as alarming as most people would probably find it. Connor wondered what would have happened if Hank had shot him - would they still live together? Connor was sure the answer was in the negative - before deciding that he was glad things had turned out the way they did.

 

 

 

**¤~¤~¤~¤ Tension ¤~¤~¤~¤**

 

 

 

The moment was in the middle of one of their more frustrating cases. The perp had been identified rather easily, due to having DNA, but that was all they had. Asides from this, they'd been given nothing. It was the type of case that got Connor in a snappy mood,  which came to a boiling point when Dt. Reed thought it was a good idea to mock Connor on the lack of progress.

Hank looked seconds away from retorting, but Connor snapped, "I would highly appreciate it if could you vacate the premises and fuck yourself, Detective."

As soon as this was said, Connor recoiled inwardly because he had _not_ meant to say that. Dt. Reed looked equally stunned, gaping at Connor as though he had sprouted another head. Both stared at eachother in mirrored expressions of shock. Hank glanced between them. "Did you just _politely_ tell Reed to go and fuck himself?"

Connor grimaced. Dt. Reed was still staring at Connor with surprised disbelief, and as gracefully as he could, Connor left the pair, keeping his back straight and his walk as determined as possible.

Hank quickly followed after him. His hands found Connor's arm, halting his steps. He gestured to Connor, frowning. "Your thing, it's yellow."

"Oh." Connor said intelligently.

"Oh." Hank repeated, raising an eyebrow. His eyes rested against Connor's LED before meeting Connor's eyes. "I've never heard you swear before. It's hella fuckin' weird."

Connor sighed. "I'm going to have to apologize."

"Don't." Hank insisted, keeping his hand against Connor's arm and Connor found himself rather distracted. He glanced down at the point of contact, something warm and light pooling against his chest. Hank noticed what he was doing and pulled back. "I mean, uh, the fucker had it coming."

"Do you not like touching me?" Connor asked.

**[Heart Rate: 89 bpm]**

"You keep on saying this shit, Connor." Hank muttered, suddenly gaining an impressive imterest in the floor. He scuffed the heel of his shoe against it, hands in pockets. "You need to think before you speak, people'll get the wrong idea."

Connor knew he was pushing, knew that now was probably a bad time to confront Hank about anything, but he was far too agitated to stop himself. "What wrong idea did you get, Lieutenant?"

"I'm not playing this game." Hank replied firmly. Normally, Connor would let the sunject drop completely, and they would go back to their usual routine. Though, this time, Connor wasn't giving up, and Hank noticed. He tried to divert Connor's attention. "Have they finally made drugs for Androids? If so, which ones are you taking?"

" _Hank_." Connor expressed. "Why do you dislike touching me? You're fine with everyone else, even when Reed is trying to anger you."

**[Heart Rate: 102 bpm]**

"We are not having this conversation." Hank snapped, and Connor immediately halted. Hank didn't raise his voice - he rarely did, especially with Connor - but he did lower it, indicating that he meant what he said. "Especially not here."

"I apologize." Connor said, mind catching up with exactly what he had said. "I didn't intent to cause an argument."

"Getting pissed off is what people do." Hank shrugged, the tension in his shoulders relaxing and Connor promptly scolded himself for putting the tension there in the first place. "You'll get used to it."

There was a pause. 

Hank gave a poor imitation of Connor's voice. "I would very much wish to acquaint your facial features with a brick wall, Detective Reed."

Connor did his best to frown, which caused Hank to grin. When Hank was smiling, looking at Connor and being overall happy, Connor had no choice but to smile back. Though, he added, "When I insult people, I do so with dignity."

This garnered the desired affect; Hank laughed, eyes soft and the earlier tension, the fact that Connor had actually lashed out even though he was angry at Dt. Reed and certainly not Hank, were left behind, shrugged off.

Connor certainly couldn't ignore his outburst as easily as Hank had. He researched online about situations similar - anger directed at someone else suddenly thrown to someone you care deeply for - and found that it was very,  _very_ common.

Dr Selina Brown also stated that ' _people are more likely to snap at the ones they love the most. Losing control in front of someone you admire so much often feels like a failure_.'

Connor supposed this made sense. 

 

 

 

**¤~¤~¤~¤ Longing ¤~¤~¤~¤**

 

 

 

"Could you ever reverse it?" Hank asked. He had mercifully forgone ordering a take away upon the look of abject horror that crossed upon his face, so Connor was naturally taken aback by the sudden change in conversation. Hank elaborated. "The deviancy. Y'know, feelings and shit."

"Yes." Connor said, because he could. It would be relatively easy. Hank gives a slight hum, one that indicated he wanted Connor to elaborate, so Connor does. He looked at Hank. "I wouldn't, though. There are some things I would never want to give up."

**[Heart Rate: 91 bpm]**

Hank was a Lieutenant for a reason. The double meaning in Connor's voice wasn't obscured to him - nor would it be to anybody who had spent more than five minutes watching Connor, observing the way he looked at Hank. Hank cleared his throat. "Oh."

Despite Hank's obvious discomfort at having romantic feelings so openly in the clear, and Connor's anxiety at being too blunt, their eyes held contact.

Connor distantly thought of a word from the Yaghan language. _Mamihlapinatapai_.

 _A look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something that they both desire but which neither wants to begin_.

And just as Connor was beginning to note the shift in Hank's expression, the way his eyes darkened briefly and his gaze flitted down to Connor's lips, the eye contact was gone. Hank was staring at his hands. "I should - dinner."

Connor nodded mutely.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I ended itwhen I was angry and now you will all suffer byeeee


End file.
